The Final Puzzle
by JustDovely
Summary: Luke reluctantly takes a trip back home for Christmas but just as he begins to settle in, he receives a call. A heartbreaking call. With nothing but a piece of torn, blank, worn, yellowed paper and his own heart to guide him, Luke is forced into solving the crime of his life to unlock secrets that may have been meant to stay hidden forever.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Heading Home

**Disclaimer**: I own no Professor Layton characters.

**Author's Note**: This fanfic contains possible mild references from the third and fourth Professor Layton games respectively, there is also one reference to the Eternal Diva movie as well. See if you can find it!

The scene seems too familiar to Luke. All too familiar. He's standing at the docks again. And is heading home, to America, again. And the profesdor came to see him off, again, plus, he's tearing up, **again**.

"I *sniff* don't want to go back, Professor. I want to *sniff* spend Christmas here with you." The boy wails.

"Luke, you've spent four years here. I'm sure your parents would love to see what a handsome young man you've grown into, too." Professor Layton reasons.

"Mum might, but dad, not so much. He never sounds happy when he writes to me. And most of the time, I find myself wondering why I even bother to write back."

"Luke, your father does care about you. He just… doesn't express it in the most obvious manner. But I can tell you from what he told me, he does love you more than anything."

"I just wish he'd tell me that personally.

"Perhaps he will. Now, you need to get going or you'll miss the boat."

"Is this considered public, Professor?" Luke asks suddenly, his tone taking on a different emotion. One the professor didn't recognize.

"Well, I suppose, though we are rather away from the crowd. Why do you ask my boy?" Layton replies inquisitively.

"Then this might not be considered gentlemanly." The boy says with a sad smile as he embraces his mentor in a warm hug. Luke clutches the soft fabric of Layton's dark coat in his clenched fists only coaxing more tears from his already bloodshot eyes. The professor finds tears brimming the edges of his own eyes as well. He hurriedly blinks them away.

"This is preposterous! I, Hershel Layton, am making a scene in public. But… Luke is leaving, oh, perhaps a bit of affection isn't all that bad." Layton thinks as he smiles sadly, eagerly embracing the boy back.

Luke, on the other had, is startled by this sudden change in the professor's mood. But the realization that he, Professor Hershel Layton, the Stoic English Gentleman, is hugging him only brings more tears to his eyes. His mouth opens and he emits a terrible guttural sound somewhere between snorting and sobbing as he completely breaks down.

Hearing Luke's sobs and the feeling of a growing patch of something something warm and wet on his shoulder brings Layton back to the present. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he has difficulty pushing the young man upright again and straightening his hat to look into the boy's dark, tear-filled eyes and salt-stained cheeks. It takes all of Layton's willpower to refrain from hugging Luke again.

"Now Luke, I could never see you as ungentlemanly. Seeing as how we're good friends. But I think it's best if we keep the physical contact to a minimum." Layton says though a part of him really didn't want to let go of Luke at all.

"I-I'm sorry. I'm acting like a little kid again. This just feels so much like last time and I'm not sure when I'll be able to return. If my parents don't allow me to go back, it'll be another year until I see you again. I just don't want to leave." Luke sniffs, trying to wipe the tears from his eyes.

"That's very touching, my boy. And I would love for you to stay here as well, but regardless of what I think, your parents have requested your presence this Christmas. It's only proper for you to oblige. Think about it from their view, they haven't seen you in four years, Luke. I'm sure they just want to catch up."

"But what if they tie me down and don't let me come back! What if I meet someone there and start to forget about you! What if-!"

"Luke, stop. If they keep you for a year, then so be it. I'll still be here when you return. As for if you meet someone, please don't be afraid to bring them along as well. I'd love to meet them. And I can't predict the future, but I do know that you won't forget what we've been through together. It resides in your heart, and no one can take that from you. Now, run along, or you will miss that boat." Layton finishes with a chuckle and a wide grin spreads on Luke's face. It was as though the sun hadn't shined in a year, and it just shined through the clouds when Luke smiled.

"Thank you, Professor. So long!" Luke exclaims as he picks up his trunk and takes off towards the stairs that lead to his boat.

"So long, my boy." The professor murmurs after him. He watches the boy board the boat and disappear up onto the deck. He appears a moment later at the railing and gives a wave to Layton. The man waves back enthusiastically and just then, the ship's horn blows loudly, announcing it's departure. Luke tips his hat one last time to the professor before he turns and just catches the sight of the professor tipping his own top hat in the boy's direction before lugging his trunk across the deck and into the lobby with red carpets, shiny golden pillars, massive floral displays, and it's many huge crystal chandeliers. He immediately boards the elevator that will take him to the third floor, where his suite is.

"346… 347… 348… 349… aha! 350!" Luke slides his key into into the lock with ease and turns it with a resounding click. Pushing the door open, he strides into the room.

The room is absolutely breathtaking. The floor is polished wood with an emerald green patterned rug beneath the bed. The bathroom is nearly half as large as the room itself and the shower takes up nearly half of that space. The walls are a comforting beige-brown color with green floral accents along the ceiling edges. It also has a lone sliding door that opens out onto the deck that overlooks the ocean. The vast… boring… blue ocean. Most people would be thrilled at having a chance at an excursion such as this, but Luke, the single exception, gets shivers just thinking about his destination.

Luke immediately begins to unpack his belongings on the queen sized bed with the green fleece sheets on the bed with puffy goose down pillows. He basically packed half of his wardrobe. Seeing as how his clothes in America were about four years too small for him now. He might get away with a few pairs of smaller underwear and old pants that might work as shorts now, but nothing other than that. So he'd need to go shopping as soon as he arrived. Besides, American styles and British styles are quite different. Not to mention the fact that Americans speak funny. They're too lazy to say whole words so they just say "Sup" and "Lol", the boy supposed it was partly just the annoying teenage slang, and he himself had used the words a few times against his better judgement, but it was something he would still need to practice and know by heart if he were to start schooling in America. Ugh. This is so much more complicated than last time, not to mention that he'd be crossing the Atlantic Ocean all alone.

"I'm spending my first week alone. Truly alone. And I'm spending it on the one of the nicest cruise lines in Britain. No one to call, no one to hang out with, no one to write to. This is going to be the worst Christmas ever." The boy groans.

Luke spent the next four days sitting in his room and ordering things from his complimentary room service menu. His parents went a little far with his deluxe cruise ticket. They shouldn't have to bribe him to come home. He'd go home when he wanted to and that's the way it should be. But not according to his dad. Luke was sure from the moment he saw the ticket that it was his dad's idea to give him the cruise home. It was his mum's idea to bring him home for Christmas. Reading the letter that accompanied the ticket only proved his suspicions and made him want to go home all the less.

"Why can't I just do what I want? I swear, seventeen-year-olds get no freedom these days." Luke snorts angrily as he tosses a pillow up at the ceiling. It was then that he decided to look out the window. His eyes widened. No matter how thin it was, it was definitely there, Luke was sure of it. At the very edge of the horizon, he could see the American coastline. He knew from past experience that even if the land was just a sliver on the blinding horizon, the ship would be coming into port soon.

"Here we go again. I'd guess I have around an hour or two." The boy thinks exasperatedly.

He pulls the cruise ticket from his pocket to read the benefits again. Apparently, it includes a free full massage/spa treatment, and a free night at the casino.

"Well," Luke thinks in annoyance, "I can't just let it go to waste. It might benefit me somehow after all."

The young man strides from his quarters with his ticket in hand and straightens his blue suit jacket as he walks into the elevator, a dangerous smile playing at his lips. Why not spend a night out and let down his gentlemanly guard for just a bit.

He reaches the lobby and strides into the Aloe Vera Spa with a small spring in his step. Upon showing his ticket he is shown to the sauna and allowed privacy to strip off his clothing and wrap a towel around himself as a cover. Taking a deep breath, the boy feels the thick steam flowing freely around his body and realizes how long it's been since he was able to let go of every gentlemanly instinct in his bones and just… relax. He lets out a sigh of contentment and revels in the calmness of the atmosphere.

Around a half an hour later, a man in a suit comes to retrieve him. Luke regrettably leaves the comfort of the steam and follows the man to the next room with a hot tub where he is handed a men's swimsuit. At first glance, it looked as though the man was handing him a pair of shiny underwear. He reluctantly takes them and puts them on before hanging his towel on a nearby hook.

"Good grief, this thing is tight…" Luke thinks uncomfortably, his cheeks heating up.

The man leaves Luke to the bubbling water and the wispy steam that is twisting and curling around in the air. It almost seems to be calling to the him, beaconing for him to come closer. Luke cautiously lowers himself into the **hot** water and winces as the (near boiling) water seeps into every pore in his body. He gives a small sigh of relief as the initial sting subsides and is replaced with a refreshing cold feeling. The water almost smells sweet but when he looks down at it, he is appalled to see that the water is brown.

At that moment, the suited man returns to retrieve him. He gestures for Luke to get out. The boy begrudgingly obliges and shuffles to the next room where he is met with the sight of a massage table and shelves and shelves and shelves of lotions. The man pats the table, a signal to lay down. Luke complies in a trance-like daze from all the sweet smelling lotion fumes. He finds his eyes drooping and is aware of a rubbing sort of pressure on his shoulders before he drifts off.

The next thing Luke knows, he's laying on the massage table with his clothes beside him.

"I suppose it's over… hmm, I do feel a lot better now though, albeit a bit tired. I wonder how close we are to land now." The boy thinks, his mind still foggy from sleep.

He groggily gets up and peels off the swimsuit to put on his dry underwear. He puts on the rest of his clothing and finishes with a satisfying head shake and hair flip before placing his blue hat on it's rightful place atop his head. Running his fingers against his arms, his skin feels softer than silk and not a single pore is visible. Taking a quick glance in the nearby mirror, he smirks at his reflection.

"I actually look a bit like a model." Luke thinks in amusement and spur of the moment, poses as though he's standing in front of a camera.

As he leaves the spa, a voice comes over the intercom, "Ladies and Gentlemen. We will be arriving in Massachusetts Bay in just under an hour. Please remember to pack your bags and we hope you had a wonderful stay on the Crown Petone International Cruiselines."

"For once, I did enjoy myself on a cruise." The boy thinks to himself in awe. "I suppose I should go pack up now…" At that Luke races back up to his room to repack his bag.

After finishing, he drags the thing into the elevator amongst all the other passengers who are eager to leave the ship.

Luke reaches the exits and takes one last look around at the interior of the ship, allowing himself a single moment to marvel at the architecture and decoration of the whole place before walking down the stairs and onto the paved streets of Boston, Massachusetts.

"Might as well get this over with." The boy mutters under his breath, bracing himself for whatever would come of the next few weeks… and hopefully no longer.

**Author's Note**: I hope you enjoyed Chapter 1. Please tell me your thoughts in your reviews. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. Next chapter should be up soon.

~JustDovely


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Loneliness is a Strange Thing

Disclaimer: I still don't own any Professor Layton characters.

* * *

Layton watches in solemnity as the boat slowly propels itself out into the ocean, taking his beloved apprentice with it.

With a single deep sigh, he cleanses his mind of all of it's emotional stress and walks back to his car. As he reaches the vehicle, thoughts of the boy come flooding back into his head. The dull red paint on the Laytonmobile seems even more dull than usual without his bubbly apprentice constantly chatting and making random comments.

"What's happening to me? Is it because of Luke's departure? No, no. When he left last time I was fine. Then, what is this feeling that I keep getting in my stomach that feels like a constant side cramp?" The professor thinks helplessly as he climbs into the classic red car.

Even the car itself seems to miss the overly-enthusiatic and easily-excitable boy, seeing as how it refuses to start for a solid ten minutes. But then, after the clock hits the ten minute mark, the engine growls and grunts to a whirring start, it's almost as if it suddenly realized that Luke isn't going to be riding home in the passenger seat.

The ride back to his flat seems even more bumpy than the ride to the docks, even though he is traveling the same roads over again. Layton also notes how loud the engine is in the small rounded vehicle. It almost makes it hard to focus on the road.

"I guess Luke talks a lot louder and much more extensively than I had previously thought." Layton mutters.

Plucking the key from the ignition, he holds his top hat steady as he steps from the car and strides up the walkway to his doorstep. He quickly unlocks the door and closes it harshly behind him as he walks inside. The booming sound of the door closing shakes the walls as it echoes through the extremely under decorated flat. Layton immediately heads for his office. Rosa, the housekeeper, is already waiting for him.

"So, Luke's gone home for the holidays, hmm?" Rosa asks, wielding a duster and wearing red gloves.

"Yes, he has." Layton replies flatly.

"Will you be alright?"

"What do you mean?"

"You, know, for the time he'll be gone."

"…of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Oh, no reason." Rosa sighs as she exits the room, shaking her head in exasperation. "Stubborn as a mule, he is." She mutters under her breath before heading off to the main room to finish her cleaning there.

Layton sits down at his desk and takes a moment to look at the many artifacts that he and Luke had acquired on their many adventures together. After they came back from each one, Luke had always insisted that they put something on the blank shelf amidst his other archaeological artifacts from previous years of working at dig sites. Layton smiles at the memories of Luke pleading with him to let him start the collection and then the indecision of what to put in the collection. His eyes slowly roam over the shelf's contents. There's Luke's filled-to-the-brim notebook which documents every last detail of their travels in Misthallery, a wooden golden apple and a picture of Flora to represent the time they took a trip to St. Mystere, a small model train car and a used train ticket to serve as a memento of their trip to Folsense, and finally, a broken pocket watch and his spare top hat to remind him of the day London was nearly destroyed and of… his eyes linger on the hat. He abruptly stands and walks briskly to the shelves with the many mementos that always filled Layton's mind with the most uncanny sort of joy whenever he laid eyes upon them. He reaches up and snatches the top hat from its cozy perch amidst the other dusty collectables (as Luke calls them) and blows a large cloud of dust from the top. Few people know of his spare, and actually, in truth, the supposed "spare hat" is the hat Claire gave him. Layton had the genius idea to get an identical hat for wearing purposes and keep the gifted hat safe amidst the other shelf items so that if they are forced to undertake a particularly difficult task, such as one with high winds or something that would require fast movement, if his hat blew away or became lost in one way or another, he wouldn't be all that sad because he would still have Claire's gift nestled safely at his flat (since it was moved to there from the table in his office at Gressenheller seeing as how he was now spending more time at his flat and out solving mysteries than at his office).

It is a nostalgic moment for our beloved Professor. His mind overflowing with the memories the hat brings, memories that are both good and bad. Many are bittersweet and cause Layton to shed a tear or two. The memories range in time from the day they met to the very last time Layton would ever see her, which was the day she gave him the hat. A shaky sigh escapes his lips and Layton sets the hat down on the nearby tea table. He removes the hat he is currently wearing (the real spare) and replaces it with Claire's gift (the authentic hat).

He has just barely set the hat atop his head when something sharp pokes his head. Wincing, he removes the hat and peers inside. There, set just far enough inside to not be seen at first glance, resides a single orange letter.

"That's odd." Layton muses. "I wonder if Rosa put it there…"

Retrieving his letter opener from his desk, he slices the envelope open and the crinkling of paper can be heard as Layton unfolds the letter. His eyes scan the paper and he reads the first few lines with no difficulty at all, but then when his eyes come to the third and fourth lines, he freezes. Rosa definitely didn't write this. He looks up, his small eyes much larger than they should be and his mouth hangs agape before shutting promptly allowing Layton to gulp loudly.

"H-how on Earth did-… no, it isn't possible… or… is it?" Layton's usually organized, focused mind spirals out of control and the poor man becomes extremely flustered.

His hands are shaking and his throat tightens almost to the point of inhibiting his breathing.

"Deep breaths. In, out. In, out. In-oh good lord, what is going on? This has to be some sort of sick joke!"

Hastily, he snaps the paper and it sits stiffly in his pale, shaky hands. He rereads the letter ten times over only to come to the same conclusion. Layton sighs loudly and folds the paper back up and tucks it into his coat pocket. No one can know about this.

Raising a hand to his chin and closing his eyes, he starts to ponder the letter. A glorious solution pops into his head a moment later. He bounds to the door of his office and pokes his head out the door.

"Rosa! Rosa, where are you!" The professor yells.

The housekeeper rushes up to him. "What? What's going on? Is something wrong?" She rants.

"Could you go out and buy some more milk? We're out." Layton says smoothly.

"Uh, of course, Professor. Are you… okay?"

"Better than okay, my dear." Layton says, grinning and praying that his lie isn't as blatant as it seems.

"That's good to hear. I'll get that milk right away." Rosa smiles and scurries off.

The slamming of the front door can be heard a moment later, signaling Rosa's departure from the flat. Layton lets out a deep sigh of relief, though guilt is now gnawing at his stomach for lying to his housekeeper.

He hurries back into his office and picks up the phonebook. He searches the pages before finding the desired number. Keeping his finger firmly placed under the number, he picks up the phone and dials the number before holding the receiver to his ear and listening to the annoying sounds of the phone ringing at the other end before a gruff voice answers.

"Oi! Layton. Good to finally hear from you. I trust you're doing well?" The voice huffs and the clinking of silverware can be heard in the background.

"Yes, I am. And you as well?" Layton replies, his voice as smooth and cool as a polished trilobite fossil.

"Just dandy. The misses is fixing me dinner, the sweet woman. So what do I owe the pleasure of this little chat? Surely you didn't just call me up for small talk."

"Hahaha. No, I did not, but there is something rather pressing that I need to ask of you."

"Oh? And what might that be?"

"I would appreciate it greatly if you would do me a favor…"

* * *

Author's Note: Please comment and tell me your thoughts about Chapter 2! Next chapter will be up soon… I think.

-JustDovely


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Yay! I finally updated! Thank you to all of you wonderful people who have read this! And just for future reference, I've been having a bit of writer's block recently so this chapter was delayed for… a while.

Oh, and for the record, I know next to nothing about jails, so please don't criticize me too harshly about my descriptions. But if you see anything seriously wrong, comment or PM me about it and I'll be sure to fix it! :)

Enjoy! :D

* * *

"Six hundred and seventy one, six hundred and seventy two, six hundred and seventy three…" A man mutters in his normal emotionless stupor as he continuously counts the drips of god knows what from the ceiling and watches them slowly pooling on the cement floor near his feet. The leak had started around a month ago and counting the drops was the only way he could keep himself from going absolutely mad from the mere echoing sound of them.

"Six hundred and eighty one, Six hundred and eighty two…"

Faint footsteps can be heard from the hallway, slowly approaching the dank cell that consists of a metal cot with a lumpy, two-inch thick mattress (he measured) and a measly, stained blanket for winter months, a small, vile, brown paint-splotched toilet (at least he hopes it's paint) next to a sink that is barely to his waist in height. The sink itself has so much grime (most likely from previous inhabitants) caked onto its once glossy white sides that the bowl is now a disturbing orangish-green color.

The cement walls of the room are stained with wavy black streaks from former leaks hailing from the room above. Absolutely revolting.

All of a sudden, the thick, metal barred door opens harshly and the young man's head snaps up and he watches in silence as a heavy set guard stiffly strides into the room and stares down at the prisoner, the burlier man's eyes boring holes into his thinner, less significant skull until a lopsided grin appears on his chunky face.

"You're in luck. You're being released."

"H-huh?"

"Are you deaf? You're being put on parole!"

"… why?"

"Dunno. Some crazy thing about the police wanting you free, though. But someone out there's on your side at least."

"… oh."

"So come on, then."

"Now?"

"Yes, now. What'd you expect? Me to walk up here to tell you you're getting out, but then not let you out?"

"I entertained the idea…"

"Ha! Young kids like you have your whole lives to fix whatever the heck it is that you did to land yourself here. They wouldn't keep someone your age here unless they tried to, like, bomb London or something."

The smaller, more inferior man visibly tenses. 'That's pretty much what I did…' He thinks shamefully.

Standing up, he slowly makes his way toward the door. The bulkier man shuffles backward to allow him room to pass, and after the prisoner stumbles out, the guard follows the man down the surprisingly well lit hallway.

The two men reach the lobby and the heavier man hands the younger a bundle of clothes. The younger runs his calloused, dirty fingers over the tightly sewn fabric of his old blazer and pants, memories flooding the back of his mind. Memories that are both pleasant and painful.

"The bathroom's to your left. And there's a taxi waiting for you outside. The destination is none of your concern." The guard grunts as he disappears back down the hallway the two men came from, probably to head back to his post. Leaving the, now, ex-prisoner alone.

Sighing, the man enters the bathroom and proceeds to change outfits. His chestnut colored hair is quite a bit longer than it was before, seeing as how it no longer has shape. Now, it hangs limply without form, framing his grime-covered face at nearly chin length. His chin has sprouted a light amount of gristly stubble as well, giving him a tired, aged look.

But back then, when life seemed livable, the young man had cared about getting out. As time passed, he slowly let the hope of leaving behind him and tried to accept that no one cared anymore. He never even believed for a second that he would ever leave this retched place until the last breath left his body. When he passed on.

He calmly marvels at his reflection in the mirror for a few minutes and realizes that he can barely remember what he looked like before now. The man's mind has grown slow and empty from all those days sitting in that horrid cell and counting how many times the ceiling dripped. He can remember his life and why he's here, but can't figure out why he's getting out. The guy was given a life sentence for trying to essentially murder the Prime Minister. He's not even sure that it is possible to override something as serious as that.

And a taxi? With a preset destination? Since when does that happen? Isn't the sole point of getting a taxi so the passenger can tell the cabbie where to take them without the passenger having to drive himself/herself?

The young adult sighs loudly in exasperation.

'Trying to figure out what just transpired will only send me into an even deeper pit of worry and constant anxiety. And I honestly can't afford that, not with how unstable I am right now.' He figures.

He picks up the prison jumpsuit and tosses it in the trash can. He may never be able to forget any of this experience, but he does finally have a chance to truly start over.

Exiting the bathroom, he strides toward the door that is the only barrier between himself and freedom. But for some reason, he's not excited at all.

The sunlight burns his sensitive eyes as he walks outside for the first time in two years.

'Most people would be kissing the ground about now, but maybe I'm still an emotionless monster, because I don't feel any different than I did when I was locked like an animal inside of that cell.' He thinks sadly.

But before… he was an animal. He was dangerous. But as much as He hates to admit it, that "animal" is a part of who he is. And now, it just sleeps dormant deep inside of the twenty-four-year-old's soul, waiting for the next moment to come alive and wreak havoc on his mind once again.

He stumbles slightly on a rock and his eyes come to rest on the taxi. It's just a normal taxi. At least, that's what it appears to be. Swallowing his apprehension, he opens the door and climbs inside.

"You're Mister Dove, correct?" The cabbie asks.

"… yes. That's me." The man in the backseat murmurs quietly.

"I have direct orders to take you to one Professor Hershel Layton." The driver says, almost with a hint of pride. But who wouldn't, if you had been given orders from London's best detective and puzzle solver to ever live?

His jaw drops open. Well, there's the destination-plain and simple… but now the question is… why?

"May I ask why?" The passenger inquires..

"Afraid not, kid. He told me not to." The cabbie answers as the cab lurches from it's resting place and begins to transport the ex-convict to the flat of the man whom he owes his life.

The man sighs and shifts his gaze to the scenery flying by outside.

'Layton's the one who got me out? Why? And how? Something must be up. Releases like mine aren't this sudden, and cabs don't have "preset" destinations. Something is definitely up.' The man in back ponders as the cab continues down the street.

* * *

"Here you are, kid." The driver says with a grin.

"… thanks." The younger answers hesitantly and exits the taxi. He walks up to the door and reluctantly rings the doorbell. His heart-rate skyrockets as he hears the bell rings resounding throughout the flat.

'What am I going to say to him when he sees me, or when I see him rather.' The man on the doorstep thinks, nerves getting the better of him and he begins to fidget awkwardly.

When no one gets the door, the man is about to turn around and leave when a thought hits him harder than a blow to the stomach.

'If I were to leave, where would I go?' He thinks, his heart sinking. 'Everyone in London knows who I am. I'm a criminal. And I am probably the most infamous wrongdoer the world has ever seen, yet what am I doing? Standing at the door or of London's most esteemed puzzle solver without a clue as to why. That's what.'

A clicking noise from behind him alerts him from his thoughts. He turns to the door and sees him standing there in his usual garb, an orange shirt beneath his newly worn brown coat, and his normal brown pants. The only thing he is without is… his hat?!

'What on earth is going on here? From the research I've done, the man doesn't go anywhere without that top hat of his!' The shorter man thinks, his mind running wild with the possibilities.

Then the younger notices it, the strange, maniacal, glint in the professor's eyes. The glint that was just too familiar… but it vanishes before the ex-convict has time to fully analyze it.

"Ah, Clive. Please, come in." Layton says all too calmly for a man with a freakishly devilish look in his beady eyes, and steps aside to allow the younger man room to walk inside.

Clive sucks up his apprehension and tries to hold his head high as he walks by Layton and down the hall, where he soon finds himself standing in the living room, which is quite empty except for the small brown sofa and armchair that sit facing each other. A small tea table sits between the two pieces of furniture.

Layton walks out from behind Clive a second later.

"Take a seat, Clive. I'll put on a pot of tea." Layton says, smiling warmly at the younger man before hooking a right into another room, which Clive assumes is the kitchen.

The ex-prisoner sits down and allows himself a minute to compose his scattered thoughts.

'He's treating me like an old friend. Not like I just got out of prison. Sure, he's a gentleman, but I'm not sure if this is feigned kindness or the real thing.' Clive thinks in uncertainty.

The only three pieces of furniture in the whole room are the brown sofa (that I am currently sitting on), the mahogany colored, leather armchair (which I am guessing is Layton's), and the tea table between them. The only other thing is the green and brown, somewhat florally patterned rug that sits beneath the furniture.

From what I know, he spends next to no time at his flat. Unless he actually has time to, that is. He practically lives at Gressenheller. But I guess that he's started spending some time here, judging by the stains on the tea table and footprints near the door.

At that very moment, Layton emerges from the kitchen carrying a tray with the tea kettle and two teacups. He places it down on the table and takes a seat in the armchair. For the next minute, the only sounds in the whole house are the clinking of the teacups and kettle as Layton pours one cup for each of the two men respectively.

The professor hands Clive a cup of the steaming liquid, which he accepts gratefully. Both men then proceed to sip their tea, embracing the relaxing silence that ensues. Until Clive pipes up, that is.

"So, if I am allowed to ask, why exactly am I here?" The young man blurts suddenly.

"I have a favor to ask of you." Layton replies simply.

"That's it?"

"But of course. I only require your assistance with something."

"Oh… so… no lecture or motivational speech or… anything of that sort?"

"Hahaha. Of course not, dear boy."

"… oh. Well, what exactly do you require my assistance with?"

"Well, I've had my suspicions, but earlier today, I received a letter that confirmed everything. And I have a plan as to how I can prove my theory… but I am going to need your help to do it…"

Clive tenses slightly. He is apprehensive toward Layton's plans, but the man saved his sorry behind twice before, and probably again just earlier today, so Clive sort of owes it to the older man.

"What sort of help do you require?"

"You've always been curious Clive. I love that about you. I only need you to do one tiny thing for me, but with your history, I'm sure that it won't be troubling at all."

"Alright… what do you need me to do?"

"Clive, I need you to…" Layton starts before launching into a highly-detailed plan of how he would prove his earlier theory.

Ten minutes later, after the man is done explaining, Clive is only staring straight ahead, stunned into silence.

'Layton wants me to do _what_?' The younger man's mind screams.

Sure, Layton had saved him, but what he had just asked Clive to do crossed the line. An unsettling feeling had manifested itself in Clive's stomach the moment Layton let him inside the flat, and now it is gnawing away at his insides, and the young man still had no idea as to what it was. But at that very moment, it all seemingly clicked into place. That feeling was, and is, fear. For the first time in his whole life, he, Clive Dove, ex-convict, the near destroyer of London, is actually afraid of someone. And that someone is Professor Hershel Layton, textbook English gentleman with a heart of gold.

But the younger man knew, deep down inside, that he does owe it to Layton to do this. So Clive lets out a submissive sigh and resolves to meet Layton's intense gaze.

"So, are you up for it?" Layton questions.

"Yes. I'll do it." Clive answers, surprised at the amount of solidity in his voice.

And as unreassuring as it is, the only comfort to his frazzled mind is the knowledge that he owes it to Layton to help by doing what was asked of him; no matter how horribly depressing the request is.

* * *

**A/N:** Hope you enjoyed! Next chapter will be up shortly. Review, please?

-JD


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